


i just wanna be yours

by shortitude



Series: in our bedroom after the war [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU starting with episode 14, Canon Disabled Character, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic cunnilingus, F/M, Foreplay Against The Wall, Kissing, Light BDSM, Light Restraints, Light Spanking, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation, Not Finale-Compliant, Prompt Fill, Smut Fic-a-Thon, Standalone fics, Woman on Top, part of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Part of the 'in our bedroom after the war' verse.) Prompt fills for the Bellamy/Raven nsfw fic-a-thon, as requested on tumblr. Tags will be added accordingly, chapter titles will be the kink filled. </p><p>Basically, Bellamy and Raven have a lot of sex, and sometimes plot is mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mutual masturbation

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: this will be a series of one-shots with the same thematic: shameless porn. However, the collection does fit into the _in our bedroom after the war_ series, so if you're confused about the timeline I suggest you go read the two works leading up to this collection. **As a standard warning** , this verse was written before the s2 finale and ignores the events that happened in it; thus, Raven wasn't captured, Bellamy & Clarke & Monty didn't commit genocide, Grounders didn't betray them, and though the way the conflict with the Mountain Men was resolved was skimmed over but mostly went Bad Guys Died, Our Guys Lived, Queen Maya's Not Dead I Reject That Premise. If you want a fic that _does_ follow the finale and stays faithful to those events and has characters work through their trauma post-s2 together, I'd rec _elastic hearts_. But I'm not the boss of you.
> 
> PHEW, this is one long-ass disclaimer for a collection that just plans to be shameless porn. ON WITH THE SHOW, ENJOY.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They give her a room, it belonged to a guard, and she doesn't sleep well in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **anonymous** , who asked for _mutual masturbation_

One of the things that surprises her the most is to discover that regardless of how many times they’ve had each other, in how many ways, there’s always time to discover new ones. It’s not all that unusual, if you think about it, because both of them are sensual creatures. Bellamy thrives under the ability to touch and bring her pleasure, and Raven flourishes with the opportunities to touch and want someone as much as she does him.

And she does want him. Once they move past the barriers of miscommunication, once they settle things in his tent that night, it’s like opening up a dam. They’re not any closer to defining what they are, other than the fact that they’re fucking each other and only each other now, they’ve got each other’s backs, and they don’t yet need to put a label on it. But it works. It’s all they need; if they needed an excuse to be allowed to enjoy each other’s bodies, that’d be all they’d need.

They don’t look for excuses. After the third time Bellamy pulls her into a dark corner, in an empty hallway of the bunker and kisses the breath out of her _”Just because”_ , they stop looking for excuses.

It’s not all they do, really. During the day, it’s mostly work and duty and responsibilities that they take up like well-integrated adults. She picks Mount Weather apart; he wanders off in other corners of it, with whatever assignment he got put on. And so, the days pass, and pass, and though it’s not easy to be in the belly of the beast, they let the work distract them and then find other ways to not let their thoughts linger.

At night, usually, those ways involve touch.

Today hasn’t been harder than the others, working on destroying the labs where Grounders were killed and Delinquents were bled, then holding her head high when she meets the eyes of the remaining mountain people in the hallways, in the cafeteria. These, the rebellion within Mount Weather according to Jasper, are the people that helped them win the battle against Cage, without fearing that it would mean their eventual deaths. But, given that people who just help because it’s the right thing to do are so rare, Raven is determined to work with Abby and keep them alive. It’s a slow process, with steps to be taken first; they wreck Dr. Sing’s labs because they’re making a statement: whatever way we find, it won’t be this, won’t be through the suffering of others.

Today hasn’t been harder than other days, because almost all days are hard when working in this place.

She’s been given a place, an empty room that used to belong to a guard; she doesn’t sleep well in it, truth be told. But tonight, when she steps inside, it’s to find Bellamy standing in the middle of the room. There are two trays on the desk with dinner he went through the trouble of getting from the cafeteria, because he guessed that Raven would just finish her shift and give up on it. And this, this sort of consideration is still new, even if it isn’t; even if she’s used to it, to recognizing it when she looks back on all their interactions.

“Hey,” is the greeting she gets from him, as warning, and then he crosses the room in three long strides and has her pressed up against the door and is kissing her. It has an instant effect: she goes from being Raven Reyes, mechanic, to being Raven Reyes, sexual and in need.

She mutters a _hey_ against his lips, and grabs his shirt in her fists to tug him closer. He complies, pushing his hips against her and lifting her a few inches off the ground just like that, his hands on her waist to keep her up. She wants to be able to wrap her legs around him without help, but some dreams are unattainable. It doesn’t make her groan with frustration this time, because he bites her lower lip and bites softly down her chin, her throat, and it’s enough to distract her from anything but him.

She moans softly when he bites just above her collarbone, tugging her shirt down to get to her skin, and they reach the point when their dialogue turns prehistorically simple. Like so:

“I want—“

“Yeah.”

He runs his hands up her back, fingertips kissing along her spine, beneath her shirt. He tugs it off easily. She takes her bra off while he pulls off his own shirt. Bare from the waist up, hips pressed together without any intention of moving anytime soon, they look at each other. It’s not like they’re seeing each other naked for the first time, but there’s a sort of excitement that crosses from her to him and back when they lock gazes. It’s not _new_ , but it keeps feeling new.

She leans back against the door, the metal cold against her back, and hisses. Then hisses again, because he chooses to lean down and run his tongue flat against one of her nipples, his warm hand holding her breast up so he can reach better. Her eyes shutter closed when he lets his teeth scrape against her tender skin, and pleasure goes from slow-build to burning hot in her belly. She runs her nails up from his back to his shoulders, and chokes on another moan when he cups her other breast and kisses his way over to that one, giving her the same treatment.

“Ugh, fuck,” is the most she can do with words. He seems to appreciate it, smiling with his teeth pressed lightly to her hard nipple. “ _Fuck_ ,” she goes again, when he tugs on it before licking it to soothe away the pain he may have caused.

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs against the valley of her breasts, kissing his way up to her neck. “I thought we’d have dinner first, though.”

“Later,” she breathes out, not giving enough of a damn to be sheepish over wanting him more than she wants food.

He runs her hands down from her breasts to her waist, dragging the nail of his thumb down her skin over her ribs and making her fucking whimper. “ _Bellamy_.” Now she’s losing patience, and he knows; so is he, because he gives one roll of his hips, showing her how hard he is rather than telling her. It makes her throat dry.

Her head falls back against the door, where he finds her again, his mouth on hers to swallow the gasp she gives when he gets her jeans open and looser on her hips. He has her wait for it, holding her breath for five long agonizing seconds while they kiss. She hates him, but she doesn’t really.

He slips his hands inside her pants, under her underwear, both palms cupping her ass and pulling her up against her. It sends the ghost of friction between her legs, and she bites at his lips because he’s not giving her more. He carries her away from the door like this, uncaring that she can’t wrap her legs around him. He sits down on the single bed that used to belong to someone who died, with her straddling his lap, and the movement is so smooth and works so well that she doesn’t even think about her leg or her brace.

It also becomes clear, fast, that he doesn’t plan to stop touching her to get the brace off her. At least, it does when he brings one hand over to the front of her jeans, and slides it down to touch her. The second he does, his calloused fingertips against her slick folds, running up and separating them, pressing hard against her clit, she curses. “Wanna come,” she whispers just to him, and he nods into their kiss.

He rubs circles above her clit, too slow to get her over the edge quick, so she has time to reach down between them and get his jeans open as well. Her hands find him with the same deadly accuracy as his found her. She wraps one hand around his cock, pulls it out of his boxers and holding them down with the fingers of her free hand hooked into the waistband of them.

His breath shutters its way out of his chest, and he breaks the kiss to press his forehead against hers, his eyes half-closed and dark with pleasure. “Like this,” he whispers, fiercely, when she strokes him further.

“Give me what I want and I will,” she teases, tracing the length of him with just one fingertip. In retaliation, he pushes two fingers inside her, curls them and makes her see the stars again. She curses quietly, and jerks him off fast and tight.

The build-up, the foreplay, leads way to urgency. He fucks her with those long, perfect, thick fingers, and she keeps her rhythm fast even though her arm starts aching from the effort. They don’t plan for the synchronization, these things don’t happen in normal sex, but the planets align for them this time.

She goes over the edge when he presses his thumb above her clit and just rubs at the spot inside of her over and over, until she comes with a “Fuck, I’m—“. He follows, spills in her hand and his stomach with a cursed out “ _Raven_ ,” and they fill the room with a symphony of pants and quiet moans.

She still shivers when he pulls his fingers out, again when he brings his hand up so he can lick his fingers clean of her. She runs thumb against the slit of his cock, then sucks it clean, and pulls him up to kiss him like that, each other’s taste still new on their tongues.

When the kiss is finally lazy, and her pulse stops racing, they separate. She runs her fingertips under his eyes and watches the corners of them crinkle up with a smile.

“Dinner?” he asks, reminding them.

“Yeah.”


	2. one turns the other on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven tries chocolate cake. The results can be blamed on Monty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **la-petite-fadette** , with the prompt: _one turns the other one on_. sad warning: no actual sex happens in this one.

Because Monty insists that they do it, they try out the chocolate cake. 

By now, the mood in Mount Weather has shifted and not towards the bad. The survivors seem to bear them no ill will, now that the Ark survivors are working on ways to extend their life expectancy, and there is hope for them to see the surface world again. Incredible what selfish hope will do to a group’s moral code, right? Not so unfamiliar, to either the Grounders – who accept this situation because they get their people back from Reaper-status – or the Ark survivors – who get more tech, peace, and actual chocolate cake.

The later is an absolute fortunate coincidence. From the ashes of the Mountain Men, a new council is formed, made up mostly by the leaders of the revolution under the mountain, the same people that helped all parties get to where they are now; they extend the olive branch, officially, with an actual banquet. It’s one week after Raven’s party has returned to Mount Weather that they do it, timed to fall on the day after they’ve finished wrecking all of Dr. Sing’s terrifying equipment. Everyone seems in need of either a drink or something better.

So the cooks make chocolate cake. And because Monty _insists_ , Raven takes two plates with her to the table where Bellamy is sitting. He’s chosen a spot in the corner of the room, rather than at the grand table where leaders of all factions are sitting; before sitting down next to him, she picks up Clarke’s blonde hair out of the line of people sitting with their backs to them at said table, the young woman bracketed by her mother and by Commander Lexa. 

“That must be a hoot of a dinner party,” is what Raven says, nodding towards the main table. The other people sharing this spot – Monty being one, Octavia and Lincoln taking up the remaining spots across from Raven and Bellamy – give a snort of agreement. 

She sets the plates down, one in front of her and one in front of Bellamy, not unaware of Octavia’s gaze following her movements all the way until she’s seated down. She glances up at the woman, and finds with surprise that there’s a little smile on her lips; finds with surprise that this sort of approval makes Raven feel, oddly, _good_. She ends up pressing her leg against Bellamy’s under the table. 

“Oh, you absolutely should eat that,” Monty rushes to say, pointing to the cake slice Bellamy is looking at with distrust. 

“Yeah – brown like mud, but it tastes like orgasms do,” pipes up Octavia from next to him. She’s already finished one helping. Next to her, Lincoln pales. Next to Raven, Bellamy chokes on nothing, in lieu of his sister talking about sex. Raven starts laughing; she’s going to miss the girl when she and Lincoln leave tomorrow, and she finds that she’s missed her until seeing her tonight as well. It’s a shame that their stay is going to be brief and purely diplomatic, but it’s also not, given their story with this place.

“I’ll pass,” Bellamy concludes, pushing his plate away with a look that says he’d rather eat nails. Monty, ever the quick little opportunist, steals the plate in under two seconds with a carefree shrug. 

She looks down at her slice of cake, and decides why not. People like her, they’ve only ever _dreamt_ of what chocolate would taste like, based on stories and fragments of conversations heard from the upper class. Some opportunities shouldn’t be missed, and it’s really not like they’d be poisoned by the people here. No, poisoning is a thing only Grounders with a grudge do. 

She shrugs, and takes a bite of the cake, and – instantly – “Oh, _fuck_ me.” 

Next to her, Bellamy tenses up. 

Probably because she _did_ just sound like her orgasms do. “Oh _god_ , what the hell is this,” she mumbles with her mouth full of the most delicious thing ever. It’s obscene how good it is. It’s obscene how obscene it makes _her_ be. 

Everyone at the table is staring at her like she’s just given them the best comedy show they’ve seen in years. Bellamy’s staring at her like he’s jealous of the fucking cake. 

“What?” she actually directs this at him, “This is amazing, you loser.” When he picks up his fork and reaches over to steal a bit of her cake, she actually parries it. “Nope, not a chance. You gave up the slice I so considerately brought you, you don’t get mine.” 

They have a whole staredown for a moment. From the corner of her eyes, she swears she sees Octavia bouncing a little in her sear. She raises her eyebrows at Bellamy, daring him to go further. He looks at her very closely, then with a small sigh, gives up the fight. 

But not the war. 

Oh no, he waits, though she doesn’t expect this. She doesn’t expect anything of what happens next, simply because they’re both such private people with their relationship. But it does, like so, in slow motion:

Raven eats another bite of cake. She closes her eyes in absolute bliss, and makes a sound the likes of which she makes when she’s face-down in bed with his face between her legs. And then, just as she opens her eyes to gauge on his jealous reaction, he leans in and licks butter cream off the corner of her lips. 

“I fucking _knew it_ ,” whispers Octavia triumphantly from across the table, her nails digging into Lincoln’s arm. 

The world doesn’t come to a halt, just because Bellamy licked Raven in public; at least, not for anyone other than Raven. Her heart jumps a bit, and she hooks her leg behind his under the table, both of them reading into it exactly what it is. Without the crowd, she would straddle and have him right here and now. He looks like he’s debating doing it, with the crowd and all. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” he finally manages, his voice so calm she almost wants to slap him. “Think I’m going to go get some.” There’s a glint in his eyes and yeah, there’s no way he didn’t say it that way on purpose. He even glances down at her mouth when he says _some_ , the absolutely fucker. She is fighting against herself not to squirm in reaction.

It’s Monty who saves the moment, sort of. Awkwardly high-pitched voice, he holds his second plate over Raven to Bellamy. “Here, have me -- _mine_.” 

And suddenly, Raven start’s laughing and can’t stop, and it’s _wonderful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question is, who gets turned on, truly? Raven? Bellamy? Monty? Octavia because her ship is real? You pick.


	3. girl on top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven makes herself a new brace. Testing is required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **tammie** , who asked for _tying the other up_ & _one tells the other what to do_. and for the **anonymous** (couple of you actually) who asked for spanking. as far as spanking and restraints goes, this is as far as the characters will permit it -- _for now_ , anyway. for the record, I think this is one of my dirtiest works.

The last thing she does, she does for herself. A few days before the scheduled return to Camp Jaha – the trip to Mount Weather was never meant to be more than a trip for most of them – Raven builds herself a new brace. 

It’s practical, really. She has a lot more materials to work with in the base, a work station that accommodates welding, and a few experts left that can teach her a thing or two about the alloys on Earth and how she could bend them. It’s practical, yes, because now she won’t ache so much every night after a long shift, and Bellamy won’t have to rub the kinks out of her back and hips as foreplay on those nights.

But the way she takes it for a test drive is absolute self-indulgence. 

She tells him at dinner to be in her assigned room at a specific hour, which he would’ve done anyway because they’re not hiding from anyone anymore, but the point is to give herself time to prepare. Two people have the key that opens the door to her room: Raven herself, and Bellamy. 

So come nine in the evening, when he lets himself into the room, she knows it’s going to be him, so she doesn’t move. 

“Hell.” That’s his reaction, to finding her sitting naked on her desk, right leg crossed over her left leg. There is one thigh high stocking on her leg, just to make the way the brace sit more comfortable. Bellamy spots that, the fact that she’s actually wearing it right now, when she uncrosses her legs; he hurries to lock the door closed behind him, and starts toward her.

She lifts her right leg towards him, and with a “Stop,” from her lips, he does. He freezes in place, his gaze on hers fierce and ferociously proud. She knows it’s a milestone. The brace has never been more than a nuisance and a bad reminder to Raven, who has needed it _off_ as soon as they’ve started to get naked, but tonight she’s actually wearing it. She is actually sitting proud and tall. 

Having him listen to her on command has a lot to do with it. 

This is something she hasn’t done, not since the night she went down on him in the tent. But it’s always been at the back of her mind, the way Bellamy had frozen and then shivered under the weight of her orders. She’s had time to think it over, and make plans; Raven makes great plans. 

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” she tells him calmly, sliding off the desk in a smooth gesture that he seems to drink up. “I’m going to ride you,” she promises him, and love-love- _loves_ the way his breath catches audibly at it. She grins, smug; she raps her knuckle against her brace, once. “This model’s been retrofitted to handle the movements.” 

He lets out some sort of sound, like the kind a thirsty man gives to a tall drink of water. She walks up to him, the metal in her brace clinking on the floor like a countdown. Her toes rest on top of his boots, and she lets her fingers hook under the belt holding his pants up. “You’ve been…good.” She looks up at him for this one, soft and quiet: “You’re good to me.” Because it goes beyond sex, and he knows it. She can tell he knows it, because the way he brushes his thumb along her lower lip is more tender than she’s capable of letting her words be. 

“But you’ve been leading, and tonight it’s my turn. Yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“ _Good_. Take your shirt off.” He does it automatically, so she can’t qualify it as obeisance. Besides, she doesn’t want that from him, she wants something different. Cooperation, honesty, openness. “How does it look?” she asks him after she catches him looking at the brace; the stocking is the same dark tone of her skin, so it’s almost like she’s naked without it. 

“Like you’re more comfortable in it now,” he answers, searching her gaze to make sure he hasn’t messed up with that answer. 

She gives him a tight-lipped smile, and nods. “It’s more comfortable than the last model. But there are kinks I want to test out, experiment with. Like, how stable I am on it.” A pause. “Get on your knees for me.” 

And on his knees he does, face now at the level of her stomach. He wraps his fingers around her ankles, starts to touch her upwards; she only feels it on one leg, but it still makes her shiver. She buries her fingers in his hair, and tugs his head back so he looks right up at her. “Put your mouth on me.”

He does, like he knows how to. Oh, he knows to. She’s still mad at him for not having shown her this side of him the first time they’d fucked, though it’s clear now that he’d just let her lead and take what she’d wanted. What she’d thought she’d wanted, anyway. Now, however, he licks her clean from her entrance to her clit, kisses her folds all the way back down, nudging his chin between her legs. 

It doesn’t take long for her breath to hitch – “Keep my lips spread when you lick me nex-- _yes likethat_ – and twists her fingers in his hair. He looks at her for more instructions seconds later, when it becomes clear that what he does out of his own volition he does based on primal instinct, but _she’s leading_. 

She doesn’t even sway on her feet when she spreads them a little, though she’s lightheaded enough. “Do that thing you do to my cl-- _god_ ,” breathless. “ _Yes_ , keep going,” she encourages him, her voice hitched up one octave. Her eyes slam shut, and she feels her orgasm build, and build, closer; he runs his thumb against her entrance and she hums and nods viciously fast. “Two—“ Two fingers push inside her, easy, when did she get this wet, _when_? 

He hums against her, his mouth against her clit, and licks up-down-up-down, shaking his head a little like he can’t get enough of her taste, and she is _gone_ with a silent hitch of her breath. 

When the nerves in her spine stop feeling licked by fire again, she pushes his face away from her very gently, a relieved laugh escaping her throat. 

“That was hot,” he supplies, looking at her like she just put the stars up on his sky. She leans down and kisses him, her taste still on his tongue, hard and deep and filthy. 

Before her knees buckle out from under her, though, she stands back and nudges him towards the bed. “Pants and boots off, boxers too. On your back.” 

It’s a quick affair. She doesn’t make a comment about the way he almost stumbles in trying to take off one boot, she just stands there in wait with her bottom lip between her teeth. Then he lies back, naked and hard, erection bobbing up and against his stomach. 

Raven keeps testing. “Hands around the bed board rails.” 

“Are you going to tie them?” He doesn’t look scared, which means a lot, but he doesn’t look sure about it either. Just curious. 

“We can discuss that, if that’s something you want,” she tells him, and watches him visibly relax; so, not ready for restraints being that physical, and with Raven’s experience with being tied up she can’t blame him. Still, there’s a little something in this position, too. He wraps his fingers around the thick bars of the bed board so tight his knuckles turn white.

She climbs on, and straddles him. Already, she can tell the difference in the new brace. It bends seamlessly, practically flawless other than the fact that it’s not her leg. But he doesn’t mind, and just now, neither does she. 

“I missed this view,” he murmurs, half a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, me too,” she confesses, sheepish little smile on her lips in return. 

“Wanna be inside you.” 

“Mm, shh.” She is still testing. First, traction; back and forth seems to work well enough. She tests it out by rubbing against the length of his cock, still so slick that it’s easy and makes them both close their eyes for a second, in agreement. She does this a while, to see if she gets tired or uncomfortable, and then alternates with circular movements of her hips. She opens her eyes at his guttural groan, and sees that his knuckles are white and his nails are scraping the wood. “You must really want to touch me right now.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“And what do you say?”

“May I?” Fierce and ferociously proud, the way he looks at her, but oh so tender. 

“Yeah, touch me,” she tells him, and his hands move so fast. His palms come down on her ass so fast and hard it stings, and she jumps as that sends heat flaring up her spine. That one’s new. Something else to try out later. 

“Liked that?” He noticed. 

She smiles, and leans over to brush her lips against his; bending over while on her knees, also functional. “Yeah.” Her hips lift up off him for a second, but he doesn’t seem to mind, focused on her. He squeezes both her cheeks and brings his palms down against them again, two light little slaps; she knows he could hit harder, knows he can fight his way out of anything with his fists, but this is a different sort of violence. It’s not, because she gets off on it.

He lifts his head and scrapes his teeth down her chin, presses his lips to the top of her breasts. “What else?” His voice rumbles against her skin. 

“Rub against me.” He reaches between them and she watches; watches him rub the head of his cock against her folds, up and down until she reaches down to still his movements. “Stay.”

When she sinks down on him slowly, he lifts his arms up and grabs the bars again, and she sits down and back with him fully hilted and moans, “Good boy.” Involuntarily, his hips jerk up, and he makes her bounce a little with the thrust. 

After that, there’s nothing unnatural about the way they fuck. She doesn’t even feel the brace, doesn’t notice it working. She plants her hands on his chest and rides him like she did the first time, only better, _better_ , because they both want only this right now. He’s the first to get frantic, his movements erratic, and she brings her hands down to his hips and pins him in place. Takes them both over the edge in slow, hard thrusts, while he presses his thumb to her clit; a deviation from what she’s allowed, but she won’t scold him for it. 

Afterwards, it’s not the brace that bothers her, but the stocking sticking to her skin with her sweat. Afterwards, she climbs off him and lies down beside him, and he shifts to accommodate her and act as a buffer between her and the wall, but he still manages to look boneless somehow.

She laughs very softly at the sheepish, fucked-out smile he gives her. He pulls her down and presses his lips to her forehead. “We should do that again.” 

She agrees.


	4. discuss failure like adults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some nights, things just don't align.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **semele** , who asked for _working through failed sex like adults_. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARTA. Here, have your prompt at last. The lil' extra is because you're so amazing.

Some nights, things just don’t align. It takes the two of them – stubborn as they are – three tries to realize that there are some moods that can’t be fixed with sex, and it’s not a catastrophe. 

Winter rolls by, and with the cold weather the most activity Raven’s okay with is rushing to get the cold brace off her so she can hurry under the four blankets and curl up in a ball and wait for the night to end. She has all the more reasons to wish for the morning, because daylight means activity and generating her own body heat, whereas the night means slowly regretting everything ever. 

They share blankets, and they share the bed. The truth of it is that it’s only now hitting them, after three tries of initiating sex (once by Bellamy and twice by Raven) and failing at it, they’re finally actually sharing the bed for the sake of company and comfort. 

There’s no true need for a confession to come with it, but they both hear it. She hears it in the way he curls up behind her and drags her back against his chest and rumbles against her right before falling asleep. He hears it in the way she has moved all her blankets and pillows to his tent, and is there every night without pretenses. 

Is it enough for them? That answer, as well, takes a while to figure out. 

\--

The third time is the hardest, because Raven feels a small panic catching up with her. They’ve slept together before, in his tent and in her room in Mount Weather, but there had always been sex preceding it. Sleep hadn’t happened as a goal, it had been a consequence of exhaustion, and a combination of the both of them smelling pleasant to the other one and body heat feeling nicer when shared. Right, that was it. 

But winter or not, after going on fumes for longer than a week, Raven’s actually _ready_ for it. Wants it, her sweet release and the delicious sigh he presses to the crook of her neck when he comes. 

Wanting and having are two different things. 

It does frustrate her when it doesn’t play out quite like she planned it. There’s kissing, oh there’s no complain there; they have to be careful not to move around too much so as to not lose blankets in the interim, and the air beneath them is stuffy. She’s sweaty in a time she’s not supposed to be sweaty, and when Bellamy ducks his head to her neck, it happens. 

She sneezes. In his eyes, almost. A groan of uttermost frustration comes out of her mouth, and he pulls up to blink at her like he can’t believe that just happened. Well, it did. 

“That’s cute,” he murmurs, still stunned. She feels flustered at the observation, and presses her lips together in a tight, thin line that spells danger.

Bellamy reads that well enough, and bends down to kiss her forehead very gently, as a way of excusing her the sneeze, before he rolls off her and to her side. 

“This isn’t working,” he observes, and Raven agrees with an annoyed little huff. 

“It’s the weather.” Well, maybe it isn’t.

“No, it’s not.” He nudges her shoulder with his nose, and if Raven had ever known about what big puppies looked like or had ever wanted one, she’d draw the comparison now. “What’s wrong, you’ve been wrapped up in your head all these nights.” _And_ it’s lead to frustration killing a few boners, she knows. 

“Nothing.” There’s a _tkk_ sound right next to her ear, which she realizes is Bellamy clucking his tongue like a middle-aged housewife. She turns her head towards him, their noses smushing up together a little. “Okay, fine, it’s just – we’re not having sex every time we have time to ourselves.”

It had happened at the start. It had helped them through Mount Weather until their time there was over, even, and through the few weeks left before Camp Jaha was touched by winter. Octavia called it the honeymoon period. (Octavia also proceeded to explain to Raven how hers with Lincoln had been, in too much detail.) After a few months of some amazing sex, they were faced with a pause and it brought a few details about _them_ to the surface. 

“I noticed,” he finally says, then adds, “It bothers you?”

“It doesn’t bother _you_?” It rushes out, see; can’t help it, the question has the same shocked tone of Raven’s entire emotional range right now. 

He looks at her for a moment, then snorts. “No.” Oh. “I’m cool with there being nights when we don’t wreck the bed or – your desk.” _Mmmm, yeah, that one was good_. She shakes her head to focus. “Where’d you go?” he asks, having noticed her lapse.

She’s almost shy first, chin tucked in towards her chest, and then almost defiant. (They’re having pillow talk, she _needs_ to break this weird mood.) “The desk.” 

He smirks a little, smug for the right reasons. Last time against her desk had almost ruined one of its sturdy legs, and definitely had ruined Raven in the best of ways. When he leans in to nip at her lips, even if for a second, she can tell the difference. It’s not that they don’t want each other; the kiss barely lasted a second and she could tell he does. It’s the weather, it’s the work, it’s everything else. It happens. 

She has to make sure. “So you don’t mind, if we become these people?” 

“What people exactly?”

“The kind of people who sleep together. Actually sleep, no fucking. It doesn’t bother you.”

“Why would it bother me, it’s not like you’re using me for body heat. I like you here.” He says that, but she hears a lot more meaning to it. “Do _you_ like being here?”

“I moved all my blankets here, didn’t I?” She says that, but he’ll hear a lot more meaning to it. It happens, because they end up sharing the most ridiculous smile, like teenagers who just discovered tits are amazing. She clears her throat and scoots closer to him; it’s fine, they don’t have to fuck, and the mood’s pretty much gone anyway. “I’m gonna fix the insulation on this place, or by February we’ll be dead.” 

He adjusts his position, lying on his back and drawing her closer. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he draws her left leg between his legs. With relief she notes that he’s not hard; good, it’s good to be on equal grounds there. Then, he makes sure the blankets all sit snug around them, and starts tracing her spine with his fingers. 

That makes her sleepy, always and without a fault, so it takes a while for it to register that he’s speaking again. 

“How?”

“Hmm?”

“Insulation on a tent. How’ll you manage that?” 

She murmurs something against his chest, nuzzling her cheek against him. It’s, “By not living in a tent,” and it makes him snort. 

It’s not romantic, which Raven is so perfectly okay with, but the last sound she recalls hearing before sleep is that hideously unattractive snort, and the touch of his lips to her hairline. 

\--

The morning, though, the morning is another thing all together. 

It’s still early enough in the winter that morning suns actually warm the inside of the tent. That’s how she wakes up this morning, with the thought of making the fabric of the tent replicate that same heat, or maybe lining it with something that could do it without killing them with fumes. 

She’s slept better than in a while, now that things are settled between them – well, in their own words, which aren’t always plenty but work just fine – and wakes up with her mind already working through the tangled mess of a few projects. 

He wakes up, too, as if her energy is the buzz that jostles him. They haven’t moved at all during the night, she notices, because when Bellamy wakes the first thing he does is run his fingers along her spine. 

And just like that, they flip the switch. He opens his eyes and looks at her, she counts the freckles on the bridge of his nose, and seconds later they are on each other. 

There’s no frustration this time, none at all. He squirms to keep the blankets from slipping off them when he moves between her legs, and she laughs because the wiggle of his hips is ridiculous. He bites lightly at her collarbone in retaliation, and then finds her nipple with his lips, his teeth, puckered hard under the cotton of her shirt. She stops laughing. 

They don’t have the luxury of sleeping naked, not in this climate, so there are layers of socks and underwear and tracksuit pants that used to belong to Maya (she keeps giving Raven stuff, it’s cute) to sort through, but Bellamy seems in no hurry. He surges up from her chest a few times just to kiss her mouth again and get reacquainted. 

There is no watch in this tent, so they don’t know whether they’re late to anything; the Camp sounds still half asleep from here, when she can hear it over the hushed sounds of their pants and moans, so maybe they’re the first to rise. In that line of thought, she reaches down between them, and runs her hand up the inside of one of his thighs. Has a secret moment to smile at herself because he’s also first to rise, then lets him, go so he can duck under the covers and between her legs. 

This he does like he’s making the comeback with a vengeance. Takes her pants and underwear and pushes them down to her ankles, then spreads her legs and lies on his belly between them, all without jostling the blankets and letting any of the cold in. Raven’s cheeks burn, part because of the crisp air, and part because of the way he breathes against her just before he starts to eat her out. 

After a few weeks in Mount Weather and its insulated rooms, it’s easy to forget that there’s nothing keeping the rest of the Camp from hearing her first decadent, low moan, no matter how far off Bellamy pitched his tent. She gets better at keeping quiet, though at one point he starts to hum -- _hum_ against her like he’s tasting chocolate cake again, like he really can’t get enough of doing this – and she has to clamp both hands over her mouth not to scream. 

That’s how she comes, a shaking mess that can’t writhe at all because his weight on her clothes pin her legs down to the bed. It sends blood rushing to her head with a _whoosh_ , and for a few seconds she can only hear the beat of her heart. Coming down from the high, she finds herself laughing, the sounds quiet and full of relief; she feels him smiling against the inside of her thigh before coming back up to lie down beside her. 

Raven believes in just rewards, so she forgoes getting dressed again in favour of rolling on her side and rubbing her hands together to get them warm before slipping one inside his pants and boxers. He sinks into the first jerk, sighs into the second, and by the fifth long stroke, he spills into her closed fist. 

She’s incredibly endeared by the fact that he sneaks one arm out from under the blankets to reach for a dirty towel she can clean her hand with. But that’s Bellamy, considerate. Still in that line, he helps her pull her pants and underwear back up, and they have the last few moments to themselves, to lie back and be the panting, happy messes they want to be. 

“Well,” he starts.

“I think we’ve figured that one out,” she finishes, nudging him with her good leg. 

His chest rumbles against her again when he laughs, and she likes it, she likes it so much. “Morning sex?”

“Yeah.” If that was any indication, they are definitely morning sex kind of people. 

He hums, probably rolling some deep thought in his head right now, for which she leans back to watch. “I’m going to try and get some thread and needles, and sew the blankets together.” Yeah, eating her out while half worried they heat source will slip off them _would_ put a damper on anyone. 

She bites her lip to not let the oh-so-goofy smile happen, and nods. “I’ll start thinking up ways to get this tent to be warmer.” Which in Raven language means she already has five ideas. 

If it weren’t for the pleasant buzz of a long-awaited orgasm, she’d notice that they’re basically playing house here; fixing up the tent like it’s as much hers as it is his, like it’s a _theirs_ now. But they’re both too wrapped up in the moment to notice, and maybe that’s why it works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've noticed we're advancing the timeline of this series. Could it be that I'm using a smutfic collection to make plot happen? MMMMMMAYBE? 
> 
> (Help a starved writer, leave a comment if you have the time!)


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